No peace for the living
by whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer
Summary: The night was cold. Air hurt to be brought into his lungs but Damian could not stop his shortness breath if he cared to and he did not care to. More important things called towards his attention. The wet soil was frigid a thing to touch since Damian had earlier discarded his green gloves. Again, Damian payed that no mind. How could he when he needed to save Terrance?


The night was cold. Air hurt to be brought into his lungs but Damian could not stop his shortness breath if he cared to and he did not care to. More important things called towards his attention.

The wet soil was frigid a thing to touch since Damian had earlier discarded his green gloves. Again, Damian payed that no mind. How could he when he needed to save Terrance?

Terrance who kept screaming to be heard over the gales of Gotham's autumn wind and the dirt that would suffocate him.

Damian dug quicker, the action still slow without a shovel. If Damian did go fetch one even with once again running it be too late. Terrance would be dead again; Damian would have failed to protect his brother again.

It's that thought which brings tears to Damian's eyes not the wind as dirt finds it's way to his nails and the pile next to hims grows. If anyone saw him crying there'd be a serve punishment in Damian's future; in his head he can hear the snap the kitten's neck had made as his mother had watched with pressed with and cold eyes.

His breathing grows faster. The air in his chest aches but it doesn't matter as Terrance keeps screaming for him. Damian will not stop - he can't stop. Not even to calm down. Most children could hold their breath to thirty to forty seconds. His brother could hold his for two minutes - longer than Damian's record as their teacher held their head under the river that was cold from the desert night.

Finally Damian reached the coffin. His brother's screams were so loud now that Damian's ears rang like a church bell. Nails dug into the wood. A hiss of pain was let out before Damian once again harshly breathed in and out. Paying the pain no mind Damian kept scratching the coffin.

Digging.

He had to keep digging even with the sharp and constant pain all his nails felt.

His tears were making sight a rather difficult task, just as sobbing made his harsh breaths even harder to get cold air in his lungs, but he could still see the blood - his blood - leaking onto his brother's coffin. All Damian was doing was staining Terrance's coffin instead of saving him. It had long past two minutes. That mattered not. Damian kept digging, his loyalty and love for his brother was as relentless as a dog's; as Titus with a bone.

Damian's tears and cries for his brother grew harder as he fingers openly bleed, seeping into the harshly scratched surface of the coffin. His sobs shook his young body. A body that had lived longer than his brothers.

Damian wailed mindlessly as though he was baby. Hurting nails continued to dig further as well as bleed. Why wasn't his mother here? Why didn't she help save Terrance like Damian is fruitlessly trying? If she was here than Damian wouldn't be late like he was. Always was.

It hurt to breath. It hurt to dig. It hurt not to hear his brother's screams. It was cold and his brother was dead.

Damian chocked back a pathetic sob as he curled into himself, curled where he belonged. Like a dog he stayed at his brother's side, unwilling to leave, unwilling to live.

With uncaring eyes Damian watched as hands bled and froze.

"What the fuck?" Filled the hush of the graveyard. There above Damian stood Todd donning the identity of the Red Hood.

Damian didn't answer nor did he use his sharp tongue for a retort. Instead he curled into himself tighter. Hugged himself since his twin could not.

Todd cocked his head to side. If his hood was off perhaps the criminal would squint his eyes at the sight below him. Damian wished Todd, in the words Todd had used on Drake, would kindly fuck off and leave Damian alone since Damian couldn't be at peace.

"I found your lost brat," Todd informed someone on the comms. "The fucker desecrated my grave. Oh and he's been crying. Guess Scarecrow did a number on your spawn."

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A/N: If a kid is raised as assassin it's child abuse. Fight me. Originally posted on ao3 under youngjudticewriter. Part two of the "How to build a home in a graveyard." series.


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